Battle Wounds and Wounded Pride
by GirlFromNorth
Summary: In which a young Aragorn has an interesting encounter in the woods, and is not one of those blessed with an impressive story tied to his first battle wound. Written for Teitho.
**It's been _ages_ since I wrote anything for the Lord of the Rings fandom, but hell - I'm giving it a try again! This is the product of a literally-last-minute-frantic-writing for last month's Teitho challenge, which was _First_. Granted, it didn't place, but it was still fun writing!**

 **I'm quite sure the only theme I managed to convey here is the last-minute-part.**

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Aragorn hurries through the forest, following the clear tracks with his blood singing in excitement. This is one of his very first patrols with the rangers, and _(to his guilty delight)_ they had run into a small pack of orcs. The fight itself was easy and quickly over, ending with Halbarad shouting that the few orcs that slunk away must be tracked down.

Aragorn was more than happy to oblige.

What the orc is lacking in ability to move undetected, it makes up for in speed. He knows he's getting further and further away from his fellow rangers, but he'll be damned before he slinks back with his tail between his legs, stating that he couldn't catch a single orc on his own.

He's almost ready to weep in joy when he finally spots the orc ahead of him. Sadly, he can't revel in the relief, because said orc appears to be seconds away from stabbing a poor, unsuspecting child in the back. Aragorn swears under his breath and forces his long legs to move faster.

As he gets closer, he can confirm that the child is in fact an elderly hobbit _(which means he doesn't have to curse any irresponsible parents),_ and he briefly wonders what the little creature is doing so far from the Shire.

Then, to Aragorn's astonishment, a pained screech echoes through the forest – only, instead of the hobbit with a sword through his back, it's the orc choking on its own black blood. Aragorn manages to skid to halt before crashing into them, and the hobbit immediately whirls around to face him. Aragorn's eyes widen as the short sword in turn slashes towards _him,_ and then he feels the cold bite of metal against flesh. He hops backwards with a yelp and promptly loses his balance; the hobbit's startled eyes following his less than graceful fall backwards. The cold, unforgiving ground does nothing to cushion his fall and he's sure his behind will be black and blue come the morrow.

"Oh dear," the hobbit cries, allowing his sword to drop to the ground. "Oh dear, that's certainly not good! What on earth are you doing, sneaking up on a poor lonely hobbit like that?"

"What I was – I was trying to help you," Aragorn wheezes and waves a hand in the general direction of the orc corpse.

"Indeed! Well, that's most kind of you, good sir; now let's see what we can do about this leg of yours before you bleed out," the little fellow replies and squats down next to the ranger, before continuing with a merry chuckle; "My, you're lucky you're so tall – had you been a little bit shorter I'm afraid your chances of becoming a father would be very low."

"You, Master Hobbit, sound remarkably happy about nearly robbing someone of fatherhood," Aragorn manages to grind out.

"On the contrary," the hobbit says, "I'm very happy about _not_ removing anyone's family jewels."

Aragorn grumbles incoherently and focuses on trying to stem the blood flow. The small creature helpfully offers him clean clothing to press towards the wound.

"Oh, how terribly rude of me, though! My name is Bilbo Baggins: at your service."

"Strider," Aragorn grunts in reply.

"Normally I'd say well met, but considering the circumstances…"

"That's… quite alright. After all, stabbing innocent rangers aside, it's good to see a traveller with enough sense to not travel unarmed," the ranger relents and bats away the offending hands reaching for his belt, "You are _not_ pulling down my trousers," he adds warningly.

Bilbo releases an exaggerated sigh and sternly puts his hands on his hips. "Well how else do you propose to treat the wound?"

"I have kinsmen nearby – allow me to bind the wound and then be on my way."

Bilbo shrugs off his own pack, grumbling something about "curse the stupidity of Big Folk", and manages to find neatly rolled up bandage. "May I remind you," he sighs, "that there was a generous amount of orc blood on the blade? Are you _entirely_ sure you do not wish to clean your wound?"

He raises an imploring eyebrow at the ranger, who finds himself reluctantly removing his hands protectively clutching at his upper thigh.

"Very well," he allows, and the hobbit carefully peels away the bloody fabric. Then, without warning, unceremoniously rips at the tear in the trousers, effectually exposing the wound beneath. "I could have salvaged those!" Aragorn protests with a wince, staring mournfully at the only _(previously)_ whole pair of trousers he owns.

"I can buy you new clothes," Bilbo answers patiently. "I can't buy you another life, should the wound become infected due to your own stubbornness and stupid modesty."

Aragorn breathes out through clenched teeth and reminds himself that he's a Dúnedain, descendant of Númenor, defender of the weak, and that he should not throttle insufferable little hobbits in the woods.

Bilbo somehow produces a water flask from nowhere and lets it hover over the wound. "This might sting a little," he warns, and giggles a little at a private joke.

Aragorn opens his mouth to reply, but cuts himself off with a violent string of curses. Valar, that _hurts_ , and he digs his fingers into the moss to keep himself from _actually_ punching the hobbit.

After properly cleaned, Aragorn's trained eye can easily tell that while the wound will bother him for some time, it should heal nicely. He can also tell that it will undoubtedly scar. Damn it. His very first battle wound, very first scar _(overlooking small childhood mishaps),_ and it's delivered by a hobbit not even half his size, with a round belly and greying hair. At least Halbarad will find it amusing, Aragorn muses dryly.

Bilbo, as if reading his mind, knowingly pats his shoulder. "Oh, don't look so glum, lad. Once you get older, you can make up a grand story of your first battle wound all you like."

"Oh? You advise me to lie?"

"Not at all – you can either just… stretch the truth, or not tell the whole truth. Either way, with your… luck, I'm sure you'll collect an impressive collection of scars to show the younger generations."

Aragorn hums, feeling a small smile tug at his lips. "Alas, but I'm afraid this particular scar shan't be one I show to others."

"That might be a wise decision," Bilbo agrees lightly and finishes binding the wound. "There! You'll be up and running after orcs in no time; I'm sure the biggest wound was to your pride, not your leg."

The hobbit helps the ranger to his feet, grumbles about his "long and altogether too skinny" limbs, and promptly refuses to leave him until he finds his kinsmen. Once they've found Halbarad _(who, predictably, was highly amused after the initial concern had faded),_ Bilbo thanks Aragorn "for his assistance" and bids them farewell.

"Despite master Baggins' claim, I somehow doubt that wound was given you by an orc," Halbarad remarks gleefully. "Considering the sword at his side and the location of your injury… Tell me, my friend, did the nasty little hobbit hurt you?"

Aragorn gives him a dirty look and huffs. "He was a worthy opponent," he sniffs, making his voice as flamboyant as possible.

"He barely reached your stomach."

"Like I said; a worthy opponent."

"It's a hobbit."

"A mighty warrior-hobbit."

"Whatever you say, Strider. If nothing else, I'm sure the children will be delighted to hear the story of the mighty little warrior from the Shire, who managed to defeat our great Chieftain himself."

Aragorn studiously doesn't grace Halbarad with an answer.

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 **Penny for your thoughts? Reviews equal chocolate cookies? :)**


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